


The constellations that stretch between us

by gyunikum



Category: K-pop, VIXX
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fluff, M/M, slight sci-fi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-27
Updated: 2016-02-27
Packaged: 2018-05-23 14:24:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6119191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gyunikum/pseuds/gyunikum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wonshik occasionally makes deliveries to a remote lighthouse and its single occupant, a man named Taekwoon, the only thing more mysterious than him being his job. </p><p>This time, Wonshik not only gets most of his questions answered, but something else as well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The constellations that stretch between us

**Author's Note:**

> This whole thing was inspired by this single [image](https://40.media.tumblr.com/9a21278fbf8e0ea3c555795532ac45d8/tumblr_nz8yuizDWj1ql08jto6_1280.jpg), I shit you not. Also finished in one sitting which is a record for me.

The view of eroded coastal cliffs, grey craggy pillars and peaks rising out of the dull surface of the quiet sea welcomes Wonshik when he reaches the end of the overgrown dirt road. He kills the engine and gets out the car.

Wonshik embraces the sight like old friend, taking in the salty scent of the air as he opens the backseat door of the jeep, his boots sliding on the uneven terrain and sharp rocks. He doesn’t need to see to make sure that the boat is there on the short pier, wooden and still standing against the occasionally raging waves that crash into the leg of the cliffs.

Fastening the climbing gear around his body, he moves to the back of the vehicle, trunk filled with plastic containers, all sealed, and with the same insignia on their lids.

It’s a logo Wonshik’s tried looking up everywhere before but never found anything. In the beginning he theorized that it might have been a private company, and he was never able to contact it in any way; it’s usually a mysterious message – a message on his private e-mail address or a piece of paper waiting for him in the hands of the receptionist at the studio – telling him a location and a date, and the boxes would be waiting for him there, all packed and ready to be delivered.

He lowers the first batch, the rope straining against the jeep’s front bumper. It takes him a whole hour to get all five containers down to the pier, and after locking the car provided to him, Wonshik follows suit, descending down the cliff with experienced steps, path lined with pitons that had been wedged into the wall by someone before him. The harness digs into his thighs when one of his feet slips, but Wonshik reaches the dock safely, the muscles in his arms trembling a bit.

The sea rocks the motorboat gently, back and forth, its left side knocking against the wooden posts. Luckily for Wonshik the water is peaceful, so he doesn’t have much difficulty loading the boat, and he’s on his way in less than ten minutes, engine rumbling loudly behind him.

A lone column of rock emerges from the mist, not as close to the coastline as the others, but not exactly out in the open water. On the top of it, the shape of the lighthouse – it looks more like a tall mushroom actually – somehow feels like home to Wonshik, and his stomach squeezes, the urge to get there as soon as possible clawing at his guts. It’s a fifteen-minute ride to get to the base of the cliff, and Wonshik is an expert at a bunch of nautical knots by now thanks to video tutorials on the internet – he hooks the rope around the cleats and the fenders multiple times to make sure the boat doesn’t float away – and he docks with ease, with buzzing anticipation.

He waited a month for the message.

He stumbles onto the bamboo walkway that twists around the wide pillar like a maze, the bottom part of it moist with the constant contact with water, the first few flights of stairs slippery as well. The cliff is tall, almost as tall as the twenty-story apartment building he lives in – good thing he’s not afraid of heights.

There’s a pulley mechanism installed that runs all the way to the top so he doesn’t have to make multiple trips bringing all the stuff up. Instead, he places the containers in the net and ties it securely before he makes his way up the stairs, never once missing the way.

Flora begins to grow close to the top, moss and short grass with the occasional resistant flowers and smaller plants on protruding places the stairs make sure not to touch. Wonshik leaves the fog behind and turns his head to face the Sun, its rays stroking Wonshik’s cheek weakly in the late autumn.

There’s a tall man in a white coat waiting for him on the porch of the lighthouse, and the smile on Wonshik’s face comes as naturally as breathing.

“Hey,” he greets the man halfway to a secure bamboo platform at the very edge, Wonshik moving more carefully than the man.

“It’s good to see you,” the man greets back, and together they pull the rope until the supplies are dangling from the wooden crane. Wonshik holds the rope while the man pulls the net over the platform, and he motions for Wonshik to lower the containers.

Wonshik basks in their teamwork, actions that have become a routine for them over the months, and where he has had to be told how to use the crane in the beginning, now he could do it all himself if it wasn’t for the other opposing to him stubbornly.

“What the hell did you order, bricks?” Wonshik asks jokingly as he manages to pick up the heaviest container of the current ones. The amount is not much, but being able to carry only one has them both take two trips between the lighthouse and the edge of the cliff.

“Stuff,” the man says briefly, setting down the last box by the entrance, closing the door with his leg.

After slipping out of his shoes and stepping onto the wooden floorboard, Wonshik examines the living room that takes up the bottom of the tower, circular and spacious with the stairs spanning around it up to the top.

His heart bursts at the sight, the raw feeling of _home_ settling cozily in his chest, not anything like when he returns to his cold and empty apartment in Seoul.

“Taekwoon,” he says, looking around the room, finding nothing out of place from his last visit. It’s been too long, still.

“Hm?” the man hums, already busy with unpacking the supplies from the containers; new, warmer clothes for the season, food, an inhuman amount of food, and strange equipment Wonshik has never had the courage to ask Taekwoon about before, and—

“Is that a playstation four?” Wonshik blurts out, previous question forgotten already.

Taekwoon looks at him like a deer caught in headlights, cradling a cardboard box to his chest. When Wonshik notices the box’s artwork, he’s next to Taekwoon in an instant, grabbing it, though Taekwoon doesn’t let it go.

“How in the hell,” Wonshik breathes in awe, eyes jumping between the box and a blinking Taekwoon. “They only made fifty of this limited edition.”

“We can play with it, if you want to,” Taekwoon says quietly, pointing at the plastic container’s contents, a bunch of dvd cases of the latest video games sitting in its bottom.

“Hell yeah,” Wonshik cheers, excited as he rummages through the games, some of which he’s never thought he’d be able to try himself. Not that he would ever have the time, but still, the thought has always been tempting. “Wow, your guys are no joke,” he comments absentmindedly, and he misses the look Taekwoon sends him.

Wonshik helps Taekwoon pack away everything to its place, into cupboards and dressers and the lone closet that stands next to the fridge, the border between Taekwoon’s meager kitchen and his bedroom.

“When do you need to go back?” Taekwoon asks, one hand stirring the pasta in a pot while the other acts as an indicator to which line he’s reading in the recipe book. Wonshik stops playing with a weird toy, one of the many found in Taekwoon’s living quarters, and looks at the man’s back.

Wonshik checks his watch, “I have time,” he says, and he sees Taekwoon’s shoulders tensing a bit. He knows the other wanted Wonshik to tell him the exact amount of hours he can spend in the lighthouse, but Wonshik is not sure either.

He doesn’t need to be back in the studio until tomorrow afternoon even though he’s got his hands full all the time, especially with the debut of the company’s first idol group crawling closer, steadily, but Wonshik supposes he’s worked so much in the past month that he deserves at least a day off. He’s practically living in his recording studio anyway.

Taekwoon’s cooking is just as good as Wonshik’s mother’s when he was a kid, and he almost throws away his pride and moans at the taste melting on his tongue.

“You need to make me some more to take home,” Wonshik says, pointing at the meal with his fork before stabbing it into the pasta again, other hand holding the plate up to his chin so he doesn’t ruin his clothes or Taekwoon’s couch. He catches the bashful smile that Taekwoon tries to hide behind a large bite, before he leans forward, his own plate on the coffee table, neatly like it should be.

Wonshik stares at the hill of Taekwoon’s cheek, and the red tip of his ear peeking out from between his black locks. His heart skips a beat, and for a moment Wonshik wonders how he will be able to wait another month to see Taekwoon.

They eat in a comfortable silence, and then while Taekwoon clears away the dishes and washes them in the sink, Wonshik sets up the playstation, sitting on the ground in front of Taekwoon’s large television. There’s a layer of dust on the screen that he wipes off with a tissue.

There are two wireless controllers, one golden and patterned, part of the edition, the other one standard black. Wonshik wrinkles his forehead, trying to fight the slight blush, trying to shake the idea off; it’s stupid.

He knows he’s mentioned on his previous visits that there’s nothing to play with at Taekwoon’s place, but it’s not— it can’t be the reason Taekwoon got the playstation—

But why two controllers then?

Maybe other people visit Taekwoon too for all Wonshik knows. He’s never asked him about it, and Taekwoon has never told him. It’s not Wonshik’s business, even though the curiousness always gnaws at the back of his mind, wanting to know what is there on the topmost floor of the tower, why it reminds Wonshik of an observatory more than a simple lighthouse.

There are no docks or ships in this area, so a lighthouse is unnecessary to be here anyway.

He palms the more decorated controller, feeling around it as he waits for the system to boot up. He hears clattering in the kitchen as Taekwoon puts away the plates, and then the telltale crinkling of a bag of chips, then glasses clinking.

Taekwoon sets down a bowl on the coffee table, filling it with chips, and a bottle of orange soda with two wine glasses. At Wonshik’s questioning look at the weird combination, Taekwoon just murmurs something along the lines of accidentally breaking the few normal glasses he’s had.

“Which game should we play with?” Wonshik asks, eyeing the collection of unopened cases. It’s a good enough distraction from the way Taekwoon settles on the couch, his legs crossed loosely. He’s abandoned the white coat, a cozy sweater and sweatpants underneath it, clumsy combination, unflattering even, but on Taekwoon, Wonshik finds it extremely endearing.

“Something easy,” Taekwoon answers, taking a handful of chips, “I don’t want to lose too much.”

They decide on a racing game where they can blow up stuff to wreck the opponents, and every time Wonshik triggers an explosion, Taekwoon always manages to steer his car into the destruction, setting him back on the track.

“Stop wrecking me!” Taekwoon exclaims, gripping the black controller. Wonshik laughs manically and presses the button that triggers the in-game dam to be blown to pieces, changing the route and essentially, crashing every opposing car. His hands are sweaty, but he waits until he wins the race to swipe them on his pants. Taekwoon groans when he places last, tossing the controller onto the coffee table without much care.

“That was fun,” Wonshik grins, pushing himself off the floor and sitting next to Taekwoon on the couch.

Taekwoon grumbles under his nose, a slight pout on his lips. He quits the game without asking if Wonshik wants to play some more, and fumbles with the television’s remote control to choose a channel. Growing tired of the man’s clumsiness – Wonshik knows Taekwoon never uses the TV – he takes it out of Taekwoon’s hands and presses a random number.

They remain silent, chewing on chips and taking sips of the soda as they watch some kind of documentary on the African wildlife, and Wonshik’s fingers twitch when Taekwoon accidentally brushes against his hand.

He wants to close the distance between them.

He wants to hold Taekwoon’s hand, or at least just touch him, to feel the man’s pale skin on his own.

Sometimes Wonshik still wonders just what is happening to him, to them.

He wonders who Taekwoon is. Why he is there, in the middle of nowhere, so far from civilization, locked in a strange lighthouse. He wonders what Taekwoon does there that keeps him from ever leaving the island.

Wonshik wonders why he, a random composer, was approached by the mysterious company to deliver essential packages to Taekwoon.

He wonders why he accepted the offer in the first place – well, he knows the answer to that, but he’s no longer short on money. Partially, it was because he was broke – before his current workplace started employing him – and because he was curious.

At first, he thought it was some sort of joke, but the guy in the pristine black suit and sunglasses, the company’s weird logo emblazoned on his breast pocket looked too professional to Wonshik. He offered him an amount of cash Wonshik has never seen in his life before, for a simple – and that’s quoting the guy – delivery job.

It wasn’t simple in any aspect of it, but even the near-death experience while climbing down the cliff for the first time was worth the payment.

Then Wonshik met Taekwoon, and somewhere along the way, the money and adventure lost their interesting feature.

So why is Wonshik still coming?

“Your hair is too long,” Wonshik blurts out. “Do you want me to cut it for you?”

Oh, right.

It’s all because of Taekwoon.

Even if Wonshik wanted to stop coming, he wouldn’t be able to. Not with the way Taekwoon smiles at him.

Wonshik washes Taekwoon’s hair in the bathroom sink with the man bent over the counter and his legs spread because he’s just too tall, and maybe Wonshik enjoys massaging the shampoo into Taekwoon’s black hair too much.

Maybe it’s the little sighs Taekwoon thinks Wonshik can’t hear over the sound of him washing his hair, but oh boy does Wonshik catch every one of them, he feels the deep exhales in his body, the reactions in his brain turning into a shiver each time.

Wonshik takes his time, and by the end Taekwoon’s knuckles are white as he grips the edge of the counter. Wonshik closes the tap and drops a towel on Taekwoon’s head, pulling at the man’s shoulder gently. He catches Taekwoon’s arms and towels his hair dry for him, catching glimpses of a slight blush on Taekwoon’s face.

“Please don’t ruin my hair,” Taekwoon lets out a shaky exhale when Wonshik drapes a plastic sheet over his shoulders – it’s actually a tablecloth but they don’t have better –, shifting in the chair in the middle of the kitchen. The bathroom is too small for that.

“Aw, come on,” Wonshik pouts, “trust my skills.”

Taekwoon snorts at that.

“And nobody else will see it anyway,” Wonshik says, adding a light tone to it to sound joking. He watches Taekwoon closely for any kind of reaction, but the man stays silent.

Wonshik sighs, and begins combing through Taekwoon’s hair carefully, trying to untie the knots without causing too much pain. After five minutes and lots of hisses and curses from Taekwoon, Wonshik makes an attempt at recalling the last time he was at a hairdresser’s, but the way the hairstylist the company usually calls for its artists was too quick and too professional for Wonshik to copy her.

He pinches a strand between his fingers and snips at it hesitatingly.

When he moves to the front to do Taekwoon’s bangs, he notices that the man has closed his eyes. A sudden influx of courage has Wonshik thread his fingers through the wet locks, before quickly combing it when he sees Taekwoon drawing his eyebrows together slightly.

Wonshik does his best to cut Taekwoon’s hair to the same length he’s seen on the man the last time he was here, but his hands are only skilled at composing songs, and right now at trembling uncontrollably as well.

“Uh,” Wonshik begins when he steps away from Taekwoon to examine his handiwork. “Maybe you’ll want to avoid the mirrors for a few weeks,” he says slowly, trying to keep the grin from showing on his face when Taekwoon’s eyes pop open at the information.

“What have you done,” Taekwoon’s face pales, hurrying into the bathroom to check his hair. He almost hits his head in the low ceiling of the small space under the stairs, but Wonshik only laughs when he sees Taekwoon’s eyes narrowing in the mirror, his new hair decently short at the bottom and his wet bangs falling just below his eyebrows.

“You should have seen your face,” Wonshik teases, not moving an inch from the doorframe as Taekwoon passes him, closely, their chests touching. Wonshik wills his hand to stay at his side no matter how much it wants to snake around Taekwoon’s waist in that moment.

As night befalls them, Taekwoon switches on the lights, dim yellow, old-fashioned bulbs without any type of decorative covering on stands or hanging down from the high ceiling, a stark contrast to the bright LEDs in Wonshik’s studio that sometimes hurt his eyes when he forgets to sleep. He prefers this to the ones in the recording room.

They boot up the playstation once more, playing with an arcade fighter game this time, and Wonshik has to fight for his victory. Taekwoon accepts his defeat without grumbling, and lets Wonshik choose another channel. He grabs the wine glasses, soda bottle drained and the bowl empty, and rounds the couch to do something in the kitchen.

Wonshik increases the volume on the show, some sort of scientific program talking about the direct detection of gravitational waves and what this new discovery can mean for the future of humanity, but Wonshik only listens to it with half an ear because the other one is trained on Taekwoon opening the fridge, taking something out and then closing the door.

Then silence. Taekwoon doesn’t return immediately.

“Wonshik?” the man asks quietly.

Wonshik turns around on the couch, and peeps over the back to see Taekwoon holding a dark bottle.

“Do you— want to drink some wine?” Taekwoon continues, and Wonshik doesn’t understand the hesitation in his voice.

Wonshik nearly says yes.

“I can’t,” he shakes his head though, his sigh almost mourning. “I have to drive.”

Taekwoon’s defeated expression devastates Wonshik.

“You can—you can sleep here,” Taekwoon tries, still holding the bottle in his hand. “I— I mean you said… you said you still have time,” he explains quickly, not giving time for Wonshik to cut in. “You can just go back tomorrow.”

Wonshik thinks, weighs the pros and cons between going and staying.

He really wants to spend more time with Taekwoon.

He’s tried visiting the island even when he didn’t have any deliveries to make, but the boat was never there, and every single business and private person refused to rent him a boat when Wonshik told them his destination.

Visiting Taekwoon is a rare luxury for Wonshik, and he always savors every second of it.

He really wants to stay, god, Taekwoon can’t even imagine how much he wants to do that.

“I can’t— can’t,” Wonshik refuses, unsure, trying to persuade himself more than Taekwoon. “I need to go back, I have work tomorrow,” he continues, taking a glance at his watch. “In fact, I should go now.”

Taekwoon gawks at him as Wonshik stands up hurriedly, and Wonshik is about to open the entrance when Taekwoon slams the door shut and stands between him and the exit, placing his hands on the frame.

His now dry hair is straight but disheveled a bit from running his fingers through it constantly, and his expression is panicked, somehow. Wonshik doesn’t understand Taekwoon’s reactions.

“What’s wrong?” he asks cautiously. The other man is behaving strangely.

“You—,” Taekwoon begins, “you can’t go.”

“What?” Wonshik blinks in confusion.

“I said you can’t leave. Please. Don’t go,” Taekwoon pleads.

“But why?”

Taekwoon keeps quiet at the question, just stares at Wonshik with pleading eyes, his chest heaving up and down. Wonshik tries to figure out why Taekwoon wouldn’t want him to leave, but his mind comes up blank.

“Taekwoon, why?” Wonshik demands, his voice hard. It seems to pull Taekwoon out of his trance, because the man shakes his head a bit and looks at Wonshik with focused eyes.

“I…” he trails off, uncertain. He worries his lower lip, his nose flaring with a deep exhale. “I’ll show you.”

Before Wonshik can object or agree, Taekwoon grabs his hand and pulls him through the living room straight to the bottom of the stairs. Wonshik’s legs start to tremble with confusion and excitement.

He lets Taekwoon lead him for a few flights, going over different scenarios in his head, before he pulls his hand out of the cage of Taekwoon’s iron grip.

They stop on the stairs between two floors, and Wonshik’s heart is hammering against his ribcage.

“Please,” Taekwoon begins. “I— I know you have questions, about this— this whole thing, this place and me,” the man says and Wonshik’s eyes widen in recognition. “I’ll answer everything once I’ve showed it to you.”

“But what?” Wonshik sounds baffled, but he can’t help it.

Taekwoon grabs him again, this time a little bit gentler, and leads Wonshik forward until the spiral staircase becomes narrow and they come up to a flat surface at the very end. There’s a door on the ceiling, and Taekwoon jumps up to reach the hatch and twist the handle.

He motions for Wonshik to follow him up the metal stairs that came down with the door, and Wonshik’s hands are shaking as he holds onto the railing tightly. He stops when Taekwoon comes to a halt, opening another door.

Wonshik follows Taekwoon into the darkness; brightness from below only illuminating a small circle around him, the floor is metal. All he hears is the clanking of Taekwoon’s slippers and an array of beeping and low buzzing that he can’t place anywhere.

Then the black void is flooded in white light and Wonshik almost falls back down the hole. He grabs onto the railing.

There’s a huge cylindrical telescope mounted on a platform in the middle, the dome of the observatory barely open a crack, and around the room there are various machines and instruments lining the wall, screens and colorful dots blinking, and Wonshik is overwhelmed by the sight.

“What—?” he stammers out, feeling short on breath. Confusion is liquid in his veins, and he just doesn’t _understand_ anything.

Taekwoon is staring at him from afar as if he was scared to approach Wonshik.

“What is this place? What— are you some kind of astronomer?” Wonshik babbles, trying to find some sort of solid ground for his mind to latch onto. Taekwoon comes down the short stairs that lead to the raised pathway around the dome.

Everything in there makes the place look like some kind of research lab or something, with the machines and all, and even the telescope, but it looks weird, it looks like a traditional telescope that Wonshik thinks researchers don’t use to gaze at the stars anymore— and Wonshik, he can’t comprehend.

“I do watch the stars,” Taekwoon finally says, glancing at the telescope for a moment.

“This is so weird,” Wonshik breathes in disbelief. “Why— why here of all places? Why am I the one delivering you stuff? What does it have to do with me leaving?”

Taekwoon steps up to him and holds his hand out for Wonshik. Wonshik hesitates for a moment, but accepts Taekwoon’s help, and the man pulls him onto the grated pathway from the entrance. He leads Wonshik around, hand holding onto Wonshik softly, and on the whim of a crazy idea, Wonshik laces their fingers together for support.

It makes Taekwoon come to a stop around the middle, just under the huge barrel of the telescope.

“You might want to sit down,” Taekwoon offers quietly, pulling a chair from a metal desk near them. There are computers and monitors on them that Taekwoon wakes up from sleep with a mouse. Wonshik settles into the seat with a heavy heart, not knowing what to expect.

Taekwoon being a lone astronomer still doesn’t explain the isolation and the location. And most of all, what’s up with the company?

“I do examine the stars and their locations, their behavior, but—,” Taekwoon begins, avoiding looking at Wonshik in favor for the screens. Wonshik tries to make sense of the readings and information displayed on them, but the only thing he recognizes is the pictures of constellations.

“—not in the… classical sense.”

“What do you mean by that?” Wonshik retorts, arms crossed on his chest. He’s bracing himself for something unimaginable, but he’s got a feeling that whatever Taekwoon is about to tell him, he’ll have a hard time comprehending it.

The whole situation is ridiculous.

“When you look at the stars, you see their past states, million and billion years into the past because—,”

“I know. Because they are so far away,” Wonshik cuts in, “I’m not a complete moron.”

“Wonshik,” Taekwoon whispers in defeat. “It’s… I know you won’t believe me when I tell you, but please—,”

“Then tell me already!” Wonshik exclaims. His hands are gripping the armrests of the chair, the only thing holding him back. He doesn’t know what he would do, but he’s on the edge of his patience, his heart racing in his chest so furiously that he can barely contain himself.

Taekwoon stalls the moment, searching for something on Wonshik’s face. He’s biting on his lips, blinking, worry etched into his features, as if he was trying to look for the right words.

Wonshik is about to scream.

“With this telescope, I can see the future.”

The world stops for the fragment of a second, but Taekwoon’s words stretch it into what feels like eternity. Even that is not enough for Wonshik’s mind to register what the other just said.

So he blurts out, “what?”

“It’s not as easy as it sounds, but I catch glimpses of the future when I know where to look,” Taekwoon explains, hands gesturing around, movements desperate for Wonshik’s understanding. “Please, believe me. I’m not some kind of crazy scientist…”

“And the company?” Wonshik doesn’t know why it’s the first thing he asks, because he’s go so many questions that his head feels like exploding, but he guesses that since it all started with the company, he should try to understand it first.

“It’s private organization. It operates a number of observatories like this around the world,” Taekwoon reveals, sounding prepared for all kinds and types of questions.

“And these deliveries? Why me?” Wonshik points at himself.

“I really don’t know,” Taekwoon shakes his head, his features honest. “They’d probably searched you beforehand and deemed you capable enough?” he shrugs. “To tell you the truth, I’ve had a lot of people deliver to me before you, but they never returned after one or two visits. You’re the first one.”

The sincerity on Taekwoon’s face is a dagger to Wonshik’s stomach, twisting in his guts.

“I’m… I hope that this won’t be the last time I see you, Wonshik,” Taekwoon admits, his voice thin and quiet, breaking at the last sound of Wonshik’s name. It feels of raw emotions that drill into Wonshik’s chest.

Wonshik lies down on the desk, holding his buzzing head in his hands.

“Holy fuck,” he whispers to himself.

Everything is surreal.

“Is this a dream?” Wonshik asks out loud, but Taekwoon doesn’t reply. He’s keeping his distance, and it somehow angers Wonshik, because what he needs right now is some kind of physical indication that yes, this is all real, and in fact, it is possible to see into the future, and the guy Wonshik has been visiting and harboring romantic feelings for is able to do it.

Of all the people Wonshik had to fall in love with.

“Wonshik, I’m sorry,” Taekwoon apologizes, somewhere close to him. When his hand touches Wonshik’s shoulder, Wonshik startles, jumping in his seat. “I didn’t mean to— to put this weight on you—,”

“Holy fucking shit,” Wonshik breathes again, staring at Taekwoon. “Holy shit.”

“Wonshik?” Taekwoon probes carefully. He’s sat down on another chair in front of Wonshik, just an arm’s length of distance from him. His hand is restless in his lap.

“This is—,” Wonshik starts, trying to come up with an intelligible reply, “wow. This is so unbelievable. And weird. Are you for real?”

“Everything I said is true.” Taekwoon’s face is set, but there’s still worry in his voice. He looks like he wants to stop Wonshik from leaving – Wonshik doesn’t even know if he wants to leave, he’s just, he doesn’t know what he wants to do – but he also knows that he needs to leave Wonshik some space after the big revelation.

“So—,” Wonshik starts, “this is why you told me not to go? You saw something— happening to me?”

Taekwoon freezes.

“Yes,” he nods slowly.

Wonshik swallows the lump in his throat. “A—am I going to die?”

“No! No, God help, no!” Taekwoon clambers to explain, and the heavy rock falls off Wonshik’s heart, leaving relief in its place. “But if you left before morning, you’d get into an accident on your way back.”

Wonshik’s stomach squeezes at the thought. Taekwoon pushes himself forward with the chair, and their knees knock together before Taekwoon grabs Wonshik’s hand.

“It wouldn’t be anything serious, but I— I couldn’t let it happen to you—,”

“If Final Destination is anything to go by, it’s gotta happen to me one way or another,” Wonshik retorts, unable to keep the joke from coming out of his mouth. There’s no other way for him to comprehend what Taekwoon has just told him. It’s easier to accept it like this.

Taekwoon looks at him with wide eyes before he bursts out laughing.

“This is not funny!” Wonshik frowns, but he doesn’t fight the grin that stretches his lips. Taekwoon squeezes his hand, and Wonshik squeezes back, casting his eyes down to look at their interlaced fingers.

He likes the feeling of Taekwoon’s fingers in his palm, he likes the sight of it.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Taekwoon chuckles softly, loosening his fingers to massage Wonshik’s palm with a thumb.

Silence arises between them, tension bleeding out of their shoulders, and they let the muffled sound of the sea outside and the buzzing background noise of the machines drape a blanket of comfort around them, enclosing them in their little world.

Wonshik admits that he’s still got an insane amount of questions, but he feels that he’s on the way of understanding the situation, to put the pieces of the puzzle together and accept this new reality—

Taekwoon can fucking see the future.

“How does this even work anyway?” Wonshik speaks up after a long stretch of silence, averting his gaze to the telescope. Taekwoon follows suit, swallowing.

“I don’t really know myself. How the telescope works. But I can operate it, and that’s all that matters.”

“And how— how do you see the future?” Wonshik asks, trying to word his question so Taekwoon would understand what he wants to know.

“The company gives me coordinates to know which region to look for. If I’m lucky, I see it immediately, but more often than not I have to keep looking until I find it,” Taekwoon explains, fingers still playing with Wonshik’s hand, absentmindedly. He looks deep in thought, and Wonshik finds it lovely.

He wants to kiss the slight pout on Taekwoon’s lips.

“I don’t know how to explain it. I just know when I see it. It’s like looking at the frame of a blurred image. I don’t see specifics, but the company does without details too.”

“But you saw my future clearly. You even knew to what degree I’d be injured.”

“I know. Maybe it’s because your case is personal to me,” Taekwoon nods, looking at Wonshik with a bashful expression, his cheeks dusted with pink under the sharp glare of the lamps.

Wonshik leans forward and places his lips on Taekwoon’s, hands resting on each side of the man’s thighs for support.

Before he can back away, Taekwoon lifts his arms and wraps them around Wonshik’s neck, opening his mouth and letting Wonshik’s tongue in, an inviting sound escaping his throat.

It’s been a long time since Wonshik’s had a relationship or even when he kissed someone so seriously, so he fumbles with his tongue a bit, but Taekwoon is just as clumsy, a lot more sheltered than Wonshik, and Wonshik is glad to guide Taekwoon, all the patience of the world available to him when it comes to the other man.

When they part to take a breather, noses still touching, Taekwoon looks at Wonshik through half-lidded eyes and asks, “will you stay for the night?”

“Yes.”

The way down passes by them like the scenery during a train ride, and Wonshik finds himself on Taekwoon’s pile of mattresses and blankets on the floor, the bed’s owner underneath him and kissing him hungrily.

Wonshik is unable to keep his hands to himself, touching Taekwoon everywhere he can reach. He trails down Taekwoon’s jaw, kissing his chin and showering his neck with butterfly kisses. At one point, he bites into the tender skin before sucking on it, Taekwoon letting out a soft mewl, content and pleased.

In exchange, Taekwoon musses up Wonshik’s hair completely, hands sliding up and down his back, hesitating above his ass before placing his palms on Wonshik’s rear tentatively.

“Let’s take this slow,” Wonshik whispers into Taekwoon’s mouth, pressing another kiss to his lips, red and moist by now.

Taekwoon nods, his head sinking into the pillows.

“I’ll give you some clothes for tomorrow,” Taekwoon offers quietly and Wonshik smiles at him.

They undress to their underwear and slip under the blanket, settling next to each other cozily. Wonshik sighs against the crook of Taekwoon’s neck, kissing it lightly.  

 

Wonshik wakes up to Taekwoon turning around in his embrace, his loud snoring subsiding a little.

It takes his eyes a little time to adjust to the morning brightness streaming through the small windows, but mind is awakening with an unhealthy amount of questions.

Wonshik looks around without moving too much, and assesses his surroundings.

Well, if he’s still at Taekwoon’s place, then that means he’s stayed behind, and everything is real, not just a weird dream.

He looks at Taekwoon’s profile, face peaceful and mouth open. There are bite marks on his pale neck peeking from under the blanket. Wonshik’s heart swells.

With a mouth full of black hair, Wonshik sputters quietly, intending to take his arm out from under the blankets to pick at the hair on his tongue, but Taekwoon is holding onto him in his sleep. It makes Wonshik smile, but he really has to get that hair out of his mouth.

When he finally untangles himself from Taekwoon and frees himself of the vile hair, the man beside him stirs awake with a low rumble.

Taekwoon turns around, lifting his head off Wonshik’s arm, and blood rushes back to his limb, numbness beginning to prickle that makes Wonshik hiss quietly. He quickly pulls his arm from under Taekwoon before the man could change his mind and continue using Wonshik’s arm as his pillow.

They look at each other through bleary eyes barely open, none of them particularly willing to share a kiss on morning breath. Instead, Taekwoon snakes an arm over Wonshik’s waist, cuddling against his chest with a happy sigh. It reminds Wonshik of a kitten.

Wonshik uses Taekwoon’s half-asleep state to his advantage.

“Hey, Taekwoon?” he whispers softly.

Taekwoon hums, voice rough with sleepiness, and Wonshik wouldn’t mind waking up to this every morning from now on.

“Do you think you can see if my songs will hit number one?”

Taekwoon cracks an eye open, trained at Wonshik. “Wonshik— the telescope is not a toy.”

“I know, I know. I was just wondering,” Wonshik chuckles. He drapes a leg over Taekwoon’s thigh, crawling closer to the man as a distraction.

“Then wonder on. Now go back to sleep. You’re comfortable,” Taekwoon murmurs, snuggling even closer to Wonshik.

“So demanding. But I need to go back to the studio,” Wonshik admits with a sigh, pressing his mouth to Taekwoon’s hair and breathing in the generic scent of the shampoo, faint already.

“Nooo…” Taekwoon whines lowly, drawing his eyebrows together in objection. He tightens his embrace around Wonshik as if he didn’t want to let him go. Wonshik wouldn’t be surprised if it was the case.

“Taekwoon?”

“What is it?” Taekwoon grumbles.

“Do you think you can get your company to let me visit you more frequently?”

Taekwoon snorts into Wonshik’s chest before pulling his head away to look at him. “I’ll even threaten them to burn down the observatory.”

“Don’t be so extreme,” Wonshik pretend-scolds him, but he can’t help the butterflies in his stomach.

He likes this. He likes this a lot, he likes holding Taekwoon, he likes having easy conversations with him, he likes the look on Taekwoon’s face, vulnerable and lovely and honest, no longer having to keep the truth from Wonshik.

“I love you.”

Wonshik yanks his head up so fast his neck cracks painfully. Taekwoon’s gaze is sleepy, but so intense that Wonshik’s heart skips a beat. He savors the words on his tongue, stomach squeezing with a barely familiar sensation.

He places a hand on Taekwoon’s heated cheek, stroking his skin with a thumb.

“I love you too,” he whispers into Taekwoon’s mouth.

Screw that morning breath.

 


End file.
